


Welcome to the 21st Century, Cap

by trash4ficsaboutlurv



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, M/M, Prompt Fic, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-01 05:10:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6501979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trash4ficsaboutlurv/pseuds/trash4ficsaboutlurv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt Fic from the lovely AO3 member warhorse.<br/>"I was thinking maybe Steve's developed a new passion for filming everything with his new phone. Sam is accommodating and lets him record them together only once under the condition that he deletes it right after. Steve's procrastination problem and saving the word business causes him to forget about the video, until the random lame villain of the week steals his phone and disappears. Maybe you could have him running around trying to fix the situation by himself, while at the same time making Sam suspicious as hell?"</p><p>The very slightest changes to how the villain gets the vid ... also slow progress because work is murder right now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Up A Creek

“Steve, this is weird.”

“Just act normal. You don’t have to do anything.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Are you going to whine the entire time? Because I think that’ll ruin it.”

Sam lets his head fall back on the pillow and glares at Steve, who is hunkered over the tripod pressing buttons and adjusting the camera angle. “This is weird.”

Steve adjusts the lens of the camera and presses record. “So you said.”

***

Steve has gotten really into scrapbooking the last few months – really, really into scrapbooking. He even turned Sam’s guest room into a crafts room outfitted with ribbons and string, stickers and beads, paper that costs more than Sam’s entire flatware set in the kitchen, and of course, a state of the art printer for all the pictures he’s taking. And the binders already fill two bookcases against the back wall. They’re organized by theme and date. Three shelves are dedicated to “Fun with Sam,” another to “SHIELD Adventures,” two more to “Firsts for Me.” Nat even has a small folder of her own tucked on to the shelf, but it’s full of pictures of cows and trash and empty parking lots. Steve was really miffed when she submitted the scrapbook for entry into the hallowed ranks of his bookcase, but his sense of fairness wouldn’t let him turn her away. He still hasn’t quite forgiven her for using his favorite paper – black with a velvety texture and an explosion of glitter in each corner – and brings this transgression up from time to time if he wants Nat to do him a favor.

Sam isn’t one to judge. He spent his childhood thinking he could talk to birds, for god’s sake, but sometimes he feels like an old grandpa shouting at Steve to put his phone or camera down and actually enjoy the thing that’s happening. Steve documents every meal – even the crappy McDonald’s breakfast sandwich that gave Sam food poisoning – the most mundane sunrises and sunsets, pictures of Sam when he’s coming in from a run or just stubbed his toe on the nightstand. It’s _really_ annoying.

And now he’s upgraded to videos. Of _everything._ Videotaping their sparring matches actually turned out to be useful, but why does Steve need to slow-mo the quinjet taking off or Sam telling a story at dinner. And now… _now…_ Sam really isn’t sure about this.

This narcissistic impulse to videotape their love life??? Sam doesn’t get it. Has marshalled plenty of arguments against it in his head, but they all make him sound like a prude, when in truth his only _real_ concern is if this thing gets out … it could go a number of ways, but none of them are good. Why take the risk for the dubious pleasure of watching themselves in flagrante? Would it even be a pleasure or would Sam learn some things about his face he never wanted to know? Some of the people he’s been with have made some pretty awful O faces. What if he’s one of them? Steve has nothing to worry about. He’s a fucking supermodel no matter what he’s doing (which frankly, doesn’t seem fair considering all his other assets). And okay, Steve thinks Sam is the bees’ knees, but Sam has his doubts that he’ll see himself the same way Steve does.

But he’s agreed to do this, because he trusts Steve and maybe he should get out of his comfort zone a little bit. Rhodey’s exact words were: “What’s the worst that could happen?” which is basically an invitation for the worst, to which Rhodey accused Sam of paranoia brought on by nerves and told him to just relax because he and Steve are about to become an adult film sensation.

So Sam is here now, tenser than a guy about to have sex with the love of his life should be. And Steve has pressed the on button and the red light is staring him down and Sam has only one condition – this video must be destroyed after exactly one viewing. One.

***

“This is weird.”

“So you said. Forget about the camera.”

“Gonna be kinda hard.”

“If I can’t make you forget about the camera, I’m not doing something right.”

And eventually Sam _does_ forget about the camera, because Steve is nothing if not perfect at everything (which really, really isn’t fair, but Sam would be a fool to complain).

 

***

“Sam.”

“Hmmm.”

“I think my phone is buzzing.”

“I don’t wanna move.”

“I think that’s Tony’s buzzing. Could be an emergency.”

Sam groans and rolls over onto the bed. “You could’ve just moved me yourself,” he complains.

“I didn’t think you wanted to be manhandled…again.”

“God, Steve, shut up and go save the world. I’m going back to sleep.”

***

In the morning, Steve is still out. Sam rubs his eyes and yawns. Maybe Steve slept on the couch so he wouldn’t wake Sam. But when he goes into the living room, Steve isn’t there either.

Sam shrugs. Today he’s leading a group meeting at the VA with a lot of new names on the sign-up list. He needs to prepare himself for the emotional and mental exhaustion, not worry about Steve’s comings and goings.

Besides, no one’s called to say Steve’s been captured (again), so it’s probably fine.

Sam gets dressed, writes a note in case Steve comes home before Sam, and dashes off to work.

 

***

“Shit,” Steve murmurs, looking at the text on his phone. It had not been Tony’s ringtone after all. It had been much, much worse. Steve sends out two text messages with the same message. “Help. I am in some deep, deep shit.”

He glances at Sam, who had fallen back asleep immediately. “Shit shit shit shit shit shit.”


	2. To Catch a Redittor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve enlists help from Natasha and Rhodey. (Or the one in which Nat and Rhodey have a sense of humor and Steve does not.)
> 
> Prompt Fic from the lovely AO3 member warhorse.  
> "I was thinking maybe Steve's developed a new passion for filming everything with his new phone. Sam is accommodating and lets him record them together only once under the condition that he deletes it right after. Steve's procrastination problem and saving the word business causes him to forget about the video, until the random lame villain of the week steals his phone and disappears. Maybe you could have him running around trying to fix the situation by himself, while at the same time making Sam suspicious as hell?"
> 
> The very slightest changes to how the villain gets the vid ... also slow progress because work is murder right now.

“Let me get this straight,” Natasha says, swirling her straw in her chocolate shake. She has a thin milk moustache above her lip that does nothing to hinder her permanent smirk of superiority. “Mere _minutes_ after you record your very first sex tape, someone hacks your home system and is preparing to blackmail you – you, Captain America.”

Steve nods as he twists French fries into pulp on his tray. Rhodey snatches a fry that hasn’t met its demise yet and laughs.

“You have the worst luck of any man I have ever known,” he says, his teeth flashing and his eyes dancing.

Neither of them is taking this predicament as seriously as Steve would like. He knows next to nothing about computers, so he needs Nat to track the AP number – or EP address. Some technical thing. Whatever. He needs Nat to find this asshole and then he needs to silence the guy.

And Rhodey’s gonna be on Distract Sam detail until Steve gets this all sorted out. But if Nat and Rhodey don’t appreciate the gravity of the situation, Steve will just have to find some other way to handle this.

Steve’s been vacillating between terror at the kind of shouting Sam will do if this gets out and fury at the 21st century’s total lack of respect for privacy. A man should be able to videotape his sex life without fear of nosy assholes hacking (is that the word? It sounded terrible) into the Cloud or the Wifi or whatever the heck that was and going public with it. And whoever this privacy-disrespecting scourge is – Steve is going to personally rearrange his vertebrae.

“I mean, what are the chances?” Rhodey asks, chomping on a pickle. “Maybe Sam tipped off the paparazzi. Wanted to diversify his claims to fame. War vet. Avenger. Porn star.”

Steve glowers at Rhodey, but it doesn’t have the desired effect. Rhodey’s dark cheeks are rosy with good cheer and humor.

Steve digs into his coat pocket, pulls out his phone, and tosses it across the table.

“Apparently, whoever is doing this was actually trying to get Tony’s private line and thought my cyber security would be less intense than any of the other Avengers.”

“He wasn’t wrong,” Nat says. She and Rhodey lean over his cell together, reading the string of texts.

“I take it this attachment is the video in question?” Rhodey asks. He’s clearly struggling not to laugh and his finger hovers dangerously over the link.

“Yes,” Steve says darkly.

A snort escapes Natasha’s nose. “Sorry,” she says, biting her bottom lip. “It’s just – sorry—” She bursts into laughter that’s so explosive other patrons in the diner look over at them. Rhodey buries his face in his hands, but his quivering shoulders say he’s cracking up too. They’re getting a lot of curious glances.

Steve’s in his go-to undercover outfit – baseball cap and sunglasses, but neither Nat nor Rhodey have taken similar steps. Anyone could recognize them. Anyone could overhear. This was a bad idea.

He snatches his phone from Natasha’s loose grip and shoves it in his coat pocket. “You know what, never mind. I’ll deal with this on my own.”

Rhodey wipes tears from his eyes. “How’s that, Cap. Gonna give the twerp what he wants.”

Nat’s face is pink with laughter, but she does a pretty convincing replica of a no-nonsense face as she says, “I thought America didn’t negotiate with terrorists.”

“Shut up, both of you.”

Rhodey and Nat exchange glances and Rhodey raises his eyebrows.

“I don’t think the man asking us a favor is striking the right tone,” he says, his pronunciation precise and his manner arch.

“You know, James, I quite agree.” Nat tucks her curls behind her ears. “I mean, we have his life in our hands and he’s being shockingly discourteous.”

“Discourteous, indeed, Natasha. Why, with one text, I could send Cap’s personal dilemma to the presidents of 14 countries (I have them in my contacts because I’m kind of a big deal.) I could also send it to Clint, who is notoriously bad at keeping secrets – for all that he’s a spy.”

“I have a question, James,” Nat says, ignoring Steve’s darkening scowl. “Do you have Tony’s number? This seems like the kind of story he would _love._ ”

“Why, Natasha, I do. I do indeed have his number. Maybe Steve should be nicer to me. When people tell me to shut up, my fingers get all itchy.”

“I’ve heard of that syndrome,” Nat says. She turns to Steve. “It’s pretty modern, so you probably haven’t come across it.”

“Fine,” Steve says in a very controlled whisper that desperately wants to be a yell. “I’m sorry. But it would be great if you two stopped laughing at me for one second.”

“Can I laugh one last time?” Rhodey asks, his face the picture of sincerity.

“No,” Steve growls. “You can go distract Sam like I asked you. And Natasha, _you_ can help me track this bastard. Maybe I’ll even let you use some of your Soviet torture shit.”

Natasha smiles and claps her hands together like a school girl. “Am I allowed to ignore that pesky Geneva Convention or is this a some-holds barred kind of situation?”

“I don’t know what the Geneva Convention is, but I plan to cause this asshole unspeakable amounts of pain.”

Natasha claps and giggles some more. “Oooh goodie.”

Rhodey frowns. “As a ranking officer in the U.S. government, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear any of that, but as your friends, I just want to make sure no one’s actually going to the dark side.”

Natasha pats Rhodey’s arm. “For you, I’ll try very hard not to break any international laws. Might bend a few of those domestic buggers though.”

Rhodey thumbs away Natasha’s milk moustache. “Maybe you two need a babysitter more than Sam.”

“No,” Steve says. “I’ll look up this Geneva Convention stuff and Nat and I will work around—

Rhodey raises an eyebrow and Steve corrects.

“Work _within_ those limitations. I think between us we can scare this guy into submission.”

“A hundred bucks it’s some pasty guy on Reddit who lives in his mom’s basement and has some failed science projects in the garage,” Nat says.

Rhodey grins. “I’ll take that action.”

“Really?” Nat says. “Haven’t I taken enough money from you?”

“Once!”

Natasha shakes her head. “There was the Thor v. Cap drinking game, the Who-Painted-Tony’s-Armor Mystery, the waitress in Chechnya thing—

“We promised to _never_ discuss Chechnya again,” Rhodey says.

Natasha smirks. “We _have_ to tell Steve, at least.”

“You really don’t,” Steve says. “We’ve got a time sensitive thing to deal with.”

“Fine,” Nat says.

Rhodey fishes his wallet out of his back pocket and pulls out a tenner. “Alright, keep me posted, but you know, don’t compromise the secrecy of this oh-so-important mission.”

Steve pulls his baseball cap off to wipe the sweat from his brow. “Cool, keep Sam in the dark. Nat and I will go get this guy.”

Natasha swivels off her chair and grins. “Mission: To Catch a Redditor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was really fun to write. I might have a new favorite foursome (even though Sam wasn't even in this one.) But Sam, Steve, Nat, and Rhodey just really works for me (based on VERY little in canon but so-the-fuck-what?)
> 
> I hope I'm doing right by this prompt, which has grown on me more and more as I write it.


	3. Nagging and Distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhodey keeps Sam distracted at great personal cost.

“Could you set the table?” Sam asks Rhodey, nodding to the silverware drawer and reaching for a fork from the dish rack.

 Rhodey pushes off the counter which he’s been leaning against for the last ten minutes while Sam meticulously chopped cilantro and green onions for garnish.

Sam had taken Rhodey off chopping duty after he found inch-long pieces of onion in his sauté pan. _Inch long!_ Sam takes his vegan burrito bowl specialty very seriously and what Rhodey did to that organic red onion was a punishable offense. When Sam asked Rhodey if he’d been raised by wolves and Rhodey said yes, Sam had reduced him to the ranks of Handing Over Knives Guy and now Set the Table Man.

Rhodey’s been surprisingly docile about his demotions, which means he’s thinking about something else. Could be a Hill thing or a Natasha thing. Sam’s not entirely sure what Rhodey’s got going with either of those women, but it definitely seems like something. To be fair, Sam really just wants Rhodey to date someone and maybe he’s more preoccupied with Rhodey’s love life than Rhodey is. Rhodey’s probably thinking about a lunch date next week with the premier of Kuwait (or whatever the leader of that country’s actual title is).

“I forgot to ask,” Sam says, casual as can be. “Did you invite Hill?”

Rhodey flicks him a look that is somewhere between amused and exasperated. “Maria’s in Seattle, so no.”

Sam nods and turns his attention to throwing together some guac. He wants to ask if Hill calls Rhodey James, because literally no one but Rhodey calls Hill Maria, but Rhodey might skew more toward exasperated the longer that conversation goes on. Natasha calls Rhodey James, but she says it with such uninterpretable panache that it sounds like a joke or mockery or some heretofore undiscovered attitude of communication.

“Natasha never texted me back. Is she with Steve?”

Rhodey shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine. Natasha doesn’t text anyone back.”

Sam wants to say, “Not even you?” but he holds the words behind his teeth.

Somehow Rhodey knows, though, because he tosses Sam an annoyed look. “I know you want me to have what you and Steve have, so you’re throwing every available person my way, but Natasha and I, and Maria and I are not a thing. We are all just very good friends and very attractive.”

Sam holds up his hands in surrender. “Far be it from me to start sounding like my sister. She basically nagged me into asking Steve out.”

“I think I should take some of the nagging credit,” Rhodey says. He sets the water pitcher on the table with a dull thunk.

“Nat swears she was working on Steve to ask me out. Her first failed mission, I’d wager.”

“She’s lost some before.”

“I’m talking missions, Rhodes, not your silly bets.”

Rhodey grins. “Why are you and I the only ones who seem to recall that the great infallible Romanoff has lost some of our bets?”

“I think the scope of the Chechnya thing might obscure—”

“And why does everyone insist on bringing up Chechnya?” Rhodey sighs. “Let’s just eat and talk politics.”

 Sam brings two burrito bowls into the dining room and sets one in front of Rhodey. “I don’t wanna talk politics,” he points out.

“Yeah, because you want to play matchmaker. Between you, Tony, and Pepper, I don’t know how I stay single.”

“You’re surprisingly agile and none of us can catch you in our web.”

Rhodey raises an eyebrow.

“Our _well-meaning_ webs,” Sam amends.

“Yeah yeah,” Rhodey says. He takes a sip of his sangria and then holds it up in a toast. “To Tuesdays.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “To Tuesdays, I guess.” He sips from his own glass, savors the burst of sweet flavor before adding, “I’m surprised you haven’t started your interrogation about my film debut. I had assumed that would occupy a lot of the conversation.”

Rhodey shrugs, moves the toppings around in his bowl. “There you go being all self-involved again. After you’ve heard one sex tape story, you’ve heard them all.”

Sam nods, conceding the point. “Fair. I’m glad we’re going to be mature about this then.”

Rhodey laughs. “Oh no, I never promised that.”

He lets this threat hang over the table as he goes to work on his plate. Sam follows suit. He’s gotten off easy with the video stuff; he’s not fool enough to push it. After a couple minutes of companionable silence, he says, “Sarah and the kids are wondering when you’re coming by to see them again.”

“Captain America and Falcon not enough for them?” Rhodey teases.

“You know kids. They like a lot of noise and shit. All the blinky lights and guns on your hobo suit. Must feel like a suped up baby rattle to them.”

Rhodey glares. “Yeah, because the red, white, and blue thing is insanely subtle.”

“Do you really wanna talk paint jobs?” Sam asks, smirking.

“Could be worse,” Rhodey says. “Could be red and white spandex with a plunging v-neck.”

“That would definitely qualify as worse,” Sam agrees, laughing.

After Sam brings out dessert – chocolate mousse cake from scratch – and Rhodey pours them each a generous inch or two of scotch, Rhodey asks Sam what he’s doing tomorrow.

“I bought Wizards tickets for me and Steve, but if he’s not back by then…”

“Is that you offering?” Rhodey asks.

Sam wrinkles his nose. “Honestly, if Steve isn’t back by tomorrow, I might have to call up Tony to yell a little.”

Rhodey frowns and Sam laughs. “Your man can handle a little animosity.”

“I just think you give him a hard time is all. Steve’s the one not calling.”

“Could be Tony sent him on a mission where he can’t call.”

Rhodey peers at Sam over his glass of scotch. “Has Tony _ever_ been able to send Steve anywhere? This incommunicado shit is all on Steve.”

Sam sighs, swirls the chocolate on his plate with the tips of his fork tines. “You’re probably right. Steve can go all lone cowboy if I don’t yell enough.”

“That sounds exhausting,” Rhodey remarks, his tone just this side of neutral.

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me _that’s_ why you’re still single. You don’t want to put in the work?”

“Maybe running a significant portion of one of the largest military complexes in the world and liaising between the American government and all of SHIELD takes up a lot of my time,” Rhodey says.

“I’m gonna sic Sarah on you, just you watch. Workaholism is no excuse. You’re gonna have to do better than that.”

“I’m not a workaholic,” Rhodey protests.

Sam raises an eyebrow.

“I’m _dedicated_.”

Sam’s eyebrow meets his hairline.

“I’m never in one place very long.”

“You find time to hang out with me,” Sam points out.

“That’s because _you_ stay in the same spot.”

“So you _do_ like Hill!” Sam says triumphantly, then remembers how much Natasha bounces around too, and adds, “Or Natasha.”

Rhodey buries his face in his hands and says something that sounds distinctly like, “Steve owes me so much for this,” but Sam has no idea what that means.

 

***

When Rhodey slips into a taxi at the end of the night, he sends Steve a string of emojis and in all caps, _I EXPECT A SHIT TON IN RETURN FOR THIS. SAM IS PLAYING MATCHMAKER AGAIN._

Steve texts back right away: _I bet I had a worse night._

Rhodey shows no sympathy.  _You brought this on yourself._

The ellipses show up for a while, making Rhodey think Steve's writing a novel's worth of protests. Instead, the message that appears is quite short.  _You're right. I have really fucked up._

About an hour later, Natasha sends a winking, tongue-out emoji.  _Tonight was fucking gold_ , she writes.  _Surreal. Fucking surreal._

Rhodey has no idea how to interpret that and he's already drifting off to sleep. He'll ask in the morning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a really long time to get this out because work is hell, I've been out of town, and I've started work on my second novel (yay). Counting down the days until Civil War comes out stateside. Sorry not much happens this chapter. Promise more action next (probably). Also, absolutely 0 proofreading, so don't judge me.


	4. People Suck and the Internet Is a Disease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Natasha confront the blackmailer

“Are you sure this is the source?” Steve asks as he and Natasha pull up in front of a faux-Victorian, two story house in Boston suburbia. Two expensive looking cars are in the driveway and the lights from the windows spill out on the perfectly manicured lawn in bright square patches. It looks like the opening scene of a heartwarming, Christmas movie, not the den of a nefarious asswipe with a death wish.

Natasha checks her coordinates again. “Unless they’re running their IP address through some Dark Internet not even SHIELD can pick up, this is the place.”

Steve frowns. “What do we do?”

“Knock and the door will open.” Natasha smirks and takes her feet off the dash.  

Steve takes a moment to brush her dirty footprints off. He glances in the backseat of the car at his shield tucked in its own case and deliberates whether he should bring it or not. If Nat and Rhodey are right, it’s just some Reddit guy with way too much time on his hands, and Steve has been introduced to Reddit. Those guys don’t seem all that formidable. Still…

Natasha snorts. “This guy is literally guzzling Doritos and Dew right now. I don’t think you need to bring in the Vibranium Disc of Pain.”

“Fine,” Steve agrees. “But if this turns out to be some real deal shit, it’s on you that I left it behind.”

“Look around, Steve. We’re in the land of PTA meetings, gluten-free bake sales, and fuel efficient Priuses.”

Steve frowns. “I don’t know what most of that means.”

“Means, leave the shield,” Natasha says. She climbs out of the car and adjusts the lay of her hoodie. She pulls off her sunglasses, tousles her hair in her reflection in the car window.

When Steve comes around the car to watch her primping, she doesn’t even look up. “I’m doing approachable,” she explains. “Good cop, bad cop, remember.”

Steve shrugs. “Reminds me of when they had me being a dancing monkey during the war. All the buffing and shining.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “I quite like being buff and shiny. They never expect my right hook that way.”

“Fair,” Steve concedes. He pulls off his sunglasses. “Alright, let’s do this.”

He and Natasha approach the house cautiously. Well, Steve is being cautious. For all he knows, this is an elaborate ruse to kill him. Nat is mostly bored. She’s actually blowing fist-sized bubbles with her bright pink bubblegum. The pops are loud in the hush of suburban Massachusetts.

Steve takes a deep breath before he knocks on the door. It wouldn’t do to splinter the mahogany wood just yet. All is quiet for a few seconds and then a shriek like an infant in the throes of terror erupts. Steve takes a step back from the door and Nat raises her eyebrows, mid-bubble. Loud footsteps crash toward the door. Steve and Nat both take steps to either side, so whatever comes kicking and scratching out of the house won’t run directly into them.

The front door opens and for a second, Steve thinks that it’s opened of its own volition. There’s no one there. But then he realizes that the person who’s opened the door is just exceptionally small. A child. A little girl to be precise.

“Uh,” he says.

Natasha pops her gum and looks up at Steve with laughter in her eyes.

“Are your parents home?” Steve asks, refusing to feel silly right now, refusing to ask Nat if maybe her IT skills are shit and they are, in fact, at the wrong house. They are just going to see this through.

“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” the girl says. She’s seven or eight, tops, with a shock of white-blonde hair and some red paste substance smeared across one plump cheek.

“We’re not strangers,” Nat says. “That there is Captain America himself.”

The little girl’s dark brown eyes widen in surprise, then narrow in suspicion as she looks Steve up and down. “Where’s your outfit?” she demands.

“I’m not wearing it,” Steve explains. “I left it at home.”  
“My sister says you’re lame,” the little girl offers.

Natasha snorts. “Your sister is _not_ wrong, kid.”

“ _Nat,_ ” Steve says, seeing this conversation getting away from him very easily. “Is there an adult home, little girl? Sorry, what’s your name?”

“Bianca,” the little girl says. “And your name is Steve Rogers?” she asks, clearly not entirely convinced that he’s Captain America.

“Yeah,” he says. “Any adults?”

Bianca nods. “My sister’s here. She’s in her room, though. She’s not a very good baby sitter.”

Steve exchanges a look with Nat. They didn’t really prepare for a ‘what if our fiend isn’t home?’ scenario.

“Is your daddy really good with computers?” Nat asks, stooping down to be eye-level with Bianca.

Bianca twists her red-smeared fingers in her shirt and shakes her head. “No, he hates them. But Miranda’s really good at them. She’s on her computer all the time. She makes all these videos of Iron Man because she loves him. It’s really gross.”

Natasha looks up at Steve. “Miranda’s the terrible baby sitter, I assume?”

“She always forgets to make me dinner, so I gotta do it myself and I’m not tall enough to reach stuff and Mommy says if I climb on the ladder when she’s not home, I’ll fall and hurt myself.”

“So, what’s all…?” Natasha gestures at Bianca’s stained cheeks, hand, and shirt.

“I could reach the jelly.”

Nat nods and stands up to her full height. “I think we know what we need to do.”

Steve frowns. “Make Bianca some dinner?”

“No, well, actually that’s not a bad idea. But I was saying, we go confront the fan girl upstairs.”

“You’re telling me I’m being blackmailed by a teenager?”

“Miranda’s not a teenager,” Bianca offers. “She’s my half-sister and she’s really, really old.”

“How old is old?” Natasha asks.

“She’s twenty-three.” Bianca holds up a peace sign with one hand and three fingers on the other.

“That _is_ really old,” Natasha says. “Guess how old Stevie is.”

Bianca considers Steve with an expression of extreme concentration. “One hundred,” she finally proclaims.

“Wow!” Nat says. “You’re right. You’re really smart, B.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” Steve says. “Can we maybe do the thing we came here to do?”

“Bianca, can you take us to meet your sister?”

Bianca holds out a small, sticky hand to Natasha, who takes it without hesitation. Nat throws a smile at Steve over her shoulder before following Bianca further into the house.

Bianca takes them upstairs and slaps her jammy hands on the door.

“What?” someone calls from within the room.

“Are you decent?” Steve asks.

“Who the fuck—” The door swings open to reveal a pale girl with long brown hair and bright blue eyes. Her mouth falls open as she instantly recognizes Steve and then Nat.

“How’d you find me?” she asks.

Natasha rolls her eyes and doesn’t dignify this with a response.

“You don’t scare me,” Miranda says, turning and going back into her room. She flops on her bed and opens her laptop. Steve and Natasha step into the room, but Bianca makes her exit, saying she’ll be downstairs.

Steve looks around the room, which is probably a typical teenage girl’s room with drifts of clothes everywhere and posters on the walls. All the posters are of Tony and the Iron Man suit, so that’s probably a little weird. There’s also a collage of newspaper articles that are all about Iron Man. Steve’s a bit embarrassed on Miranda behalf.

“Quick question,” Natasha says. “Do you, by any chance, use Reddit?”

Miranda scoffs. “Reddit is for fat meninists. I use Tumblr.” She says this the way someone might say, _I heal the sick and lame_ if they didn’t have a shred of modesty about it.

“Shucks,” Natasha says. “You can’t win them all.” She shrugs. “And why do you hate Steve so much? Bianca says you called him lame?”

Miranda lifts her chin haughtily. “He’s boring. All patriotic and shit, like this country’s so great.”

“She has a point,” Natasha says out of the side of her mouth.

Steve bats her away. “So, you broke through my digital security system to get Tony’s private line and you decided to blackmail me along the way because I’m too patriotic?”

Miranda tosses her hair. “You could’ve been boyfriends or best friends with Tony and you decided to frolic with this Sam person, this Sam nobody, who my friends and I think could be Hydra actually. We’ve even put together a dossier on it. But anyway, you could have had Tony and you messed it up and _that_ makes you a loser.” She puts her thumb and her index finger on her forehead in the shape of an L.

Natasha snorts. “I didn’t know people still did that.”

“Well, they do,” Miranda snaps.

Natasha holds up her hands in a ‘my bad’ gesture that drips with sarcasm.

Steve is trying to hold in a lot of quiet rage on Sam’s behalf. He couldn’t scream at someone this young no matter how dumb and infuriating she is. In a very controlled voice, he says, “Sam is the perfect fit for me and he’s not with a Nazi organization either. They don’t really like black gay guys all that much. And not that it matters,” he continues, “but Tony already has a best friend. And I don’t think I could break the bond between him and Rhodey even if I wanted to.”

“Who’s Rhodey?” Miranda asks.

“ _Who’s_ _Rhodey_?” Natasha repeats, looking personally offended. “How the hell are you this big Iron Man fan and you don’t know about his best friend in the entire world, Colonel James Rhodes?”

“Is he the one that stole one of Tony’s suits for the government? I hate that guy.”

Steve places a hand on Nat’s shoulder to keep her from launching herself at this poor, dumb girl.

“If Tony heard you say that,” Steve says, “I don’t think I’d be able to protect you from what he’d do.”

“I wouldn’t _want_ to protect you,” Natasha mutters. “ _Who’s Rhodey?_ The nerve of some people.”

Miranda tosses her hair. “It doesn’t matter. Tony’s _real_ best friend is Bruce Banner. They, like, created Vision together, so they’re practically his parents.”

“They also created Ultron,” Steve points out.

“And Vision was a joint effort between Helen Cho, Thor, and our resident Idiot Scientists.”

Miranda glares at Natasha. “I tried to like you since you’re the only girl on the team and all, but you’re as bad as Captain Boring here.”

Nat smiles. “Do you hear that, Steve? I’m as bad as you.”

“Then are we both the bad cop here?” Steve asks.

“I don’t know. I feel like there’s a moral gray area to dangling a kid off a roof until she gives you the flash drive.”

“I guess,” Steve says, trying not to let his anger turn him into an irrational asshole.

“Besides,” Nat goes on, “I just did a remote wipe of all the devices in a ten foot radius. So, threats are hardly necessary.”

“You _what?_ ” Miranda asks. She grabs her computer and starts typing. Her glasses flash from the screen’s backlight and then her face falls into a mask of despair. “You bitch!” she screams. She tries to throw herself at Nat, but Steve catches her around the waist and sets her back on her bed.

“Let this be a lesson,” he says in his Captain America voice.

“I’m gonna tell everyone what you did,” Miranda warns.

Nat and Steve exchange smiles.

“You don’t have any proof,” Steve points out. “And if you’re going to tell everyone that Sam and I have sex, E! scooped you two months ago when we announced we were dating.”

“And if you’re talking about someone erasing all your digital content, that was me and I’m technically not a U.S. citizen, so I don’t think all those pesky laws are gonna stick.”

“I hate you!” Miranda shrieks. She throws her laptop on the floor and it clatters ominously, like she’s broken something crucial.

“Laptops are expensive,” Natasha say, walking toward the door.

“Especially in this economy,” Steve adds. He plucks the flash drive out of Miranda’s loose fist and crushes it in his hand. “You can email me the bill for that,” he says. “I’m sure you’ve got the address.” He feels a little better with the powdered remains of the USB in his palm.

***

“We just bullied a child,” Steve says once they’re back in the car, on their way home to D.C. They paused in their exit to make Bianca a peanut butter jelly sandwich on toasted bread and Steve had even convinced her to eat the crusts ( _waste not; want not)._

“She’s not a child. She’s one of those pseudo adults. And she did a fucked up thing, so.” Nat shrugs and starts fiddling with the radio. Steve flicks her hand away and Nat sighs. “Are we gonna sit in tortured silence while you ponder the morality of making sure that kid didn’t blackmail you for the rest of your life?” When Steve doesn’t answer, Nat rolls her eyes. “Would you rather that girl be mad at you or Sam?”

“You’re right,” Steve says, thinking of how much Sam had trusted him to do the sex tape in the first place. “You’re absolutely right.”

“Tony really does attract a certain…element,” Natasha says diplomatically.

“Pepper and Rhodey are pretty great,” Steve points out.

“I wonder if Miranda has even heard of Pepper. And can you believe she thought you and Tony would make a good couple?”

“I literally live in D.C. for the sole purpose of avoiding Tony. We’re better friends when we’re apart.”

Nat turns to look at Steve’s profile as he drives. “I’m glad we did this together,” she says, her voice uncharacteristically sincere. “I’m glad we’re friends, Steve.”

Steve smiles. “Me too, Nat.”

“You do know you owe me and Rhodey soooooooooooo much for this one, though, right?”

“You do know you owe Rhodey because it wasn’t a Reddit guy. It was a Tumblr girl, whatever that is.”

“Yeah,” Nat sighs. “He’s gonna be insufferable about this.”

“You gonna tell me about Chechnya then?”

Natasha grins, but before she can launch into speech, Steve’s phone buzzes. “Can you look at that? If it’s Sam again, I’m gonna call him.”

“It’s Rhodey.” Nat says. She reads it aloud: “ _I expect a shit ton in return for this. Sam is playing matchmaker again._ ”

Steve groans. “Can I just give you guys a lot of money?”

Nat shakes her head. “Oh no, we deal exclusively in the currency of favors and public embarrassment. Although,” she pauses, “I think Rhodey will cash in his chit if you can get Fury to station Hill on the east coast for a little while.”

“Hill?” Steve repeats. “Why would he—oh! Rhodey _does_ like Hill? Sam was right?”

“Yeah, Sam was right. But don’t tell him. I’m still fucking with him. He also thinks I have a big old crush on Rhodey, which has been fun.”

Steve shakes his head. “You are not a nice person,” he says.

“Yeah, well, I helped you avenge tonight. And it was _much_ weirder than I signed up for, so that makes me pretty damn nice.”

“Thanks, Nat.”

“No problem, Cap. But when we get back, let’s beef up your firewall. Let this be a lesson to _you._ People suck and the internet is a disease. Welcome to the twenty-first Century, Cap!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "villain" was kind of a riff on all the godawful people I've seen on Tumblr who erase the importance of Sam and Rhodey, villainize Steve, and are generally unpleasant in the fandom. Although I do loathe Stony, this wasn't really a crack at that ship so much as the toxicity of fandom around that ship. Anyhow, come yell at me or laugh with me on [Tumblr](http://samuelwilson-rogers.tumblr.com)
> 
> Also, sorry it took SOOOOOO long to update. Civil War came out and I needed to write post-fic IMMEDIATELY. hope this was fun for everyone. I normally don't write anything with an actual plot.
> 
> I also wanted to get this out tonight, so no real editing was done. All mistakes are the result of a tired mind.


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